KEEPERS OF THE FLAME The third Stefan Kumansky novel • By Neil McIntosh The journey of Stefan Kumansky draws to its conclusion in the city of Altdorf. With the largest ever Chaos invasion threatening to break over the civilised lands, Stefan’s previ- ous battles will be nothing compared to the one he now faces. The secret society ‘The Keepers of the Flame’ has uncovered a Chaos plot to strike at the very heart of the Empire, and ask for Stefan’s help. But with the fickle powers of Chaos, nothing is ever what it first appears and Stefan and his companions must make a last, desperate attempt to avert a disaster that could crip- ple the soul of the Empire.

Neil McIntosh was born in Sussex in 1957 and currently lives in Brighton. He has contributed stories for the Warhammer anthologies, White Dwarf and other magazines, as well as writing for radio. Following a lengthy sabbatical, he returned to writing fiction in 2000 with two sto- ries for Inferno! magazine. Keepers of the Flame is his third novel.

Keepers of the Flame can be purchased in all better bookstores, Games Workshop and other hobby stores, or direct from this website and GW mail order. Price £6.99 (UK) / $7.99 (US) Bookshops: Distributed in the UK by Hodder. Distributed in the US by Simon & Schuster Books. Games & hobby stores: Distributed in UK and US by Games Workshop. UK mail order: 0115-91 40 000 US mail order: 1-800-394-GAME Online: Buy direct care of Games Workshop’s web store by going to www.blacklibrary.com/store or www.games-workshop.com PUBLISHED BY THE BLACK LIBRARY TM Games Workshop, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK Copyright © 2005 Games Workshop Ltd. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited, in any form, including on the internet. ¨ ISBN: 1 84416 186 2 This is an excerpt from Keepers of the Flame by Neil McIntosh. Published by Black Library Publishing, 2005. Copyright © Games Workshop Ltd 2005. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited, in any form, including on the internet. For more details email [email protected] or go to the Black Library website www.blacklibrary.com

from KEEPERS OF THE FLAME

The note had been passed to Stefan by a figure hurrying through a busy alley the day before. The messenger was gone in an instant, but the symbol imprinted on the envelope told its own story. The Star of Erengrad. For Stefan, there was no mistaking its meaning, or its significance. The address scrawled on the note took him to a large rundown building amongst the tangle of streets that wound through the merchant quarter down towards the docks. Water spilled from ledges and rooftops, soaking through every layer of his clothing. From the outside the house appeared deserted, even derelict. He checked the note a second time to make sure this was the right address. There was no mistake, this was the place. He was trying to decide whether he should knock, or sim- ply wait, when the door in front of him was opened. A young, slightly built man dressed in green looked Stefan up and down, and offered him a fleeting smile. ‘Good. You’re alone,’ he commented. ‘Come inside.’ Stefan stepped across the threshold into the dank interior of the building. Having come this far, it would be senseless to turn back now. The building smelled damp and unlived-in. The air smelled dead, as if it had been freshly exhumed. The place was cavernous and gloomy; gravity hung heavy upon the still, cool air. The green-clad figure walked on ahead of Stefan. ‘They’re waiting for you upstairs,’ he said casually. ‘Follow me.’ Stefan hesitated, part of him still wondering if this could be some kind of trap. Keepers of the Flame 3 ‘Who are they?’ he asked. The young man turned and looked at him, quizzically. ‘Who do you imagine?’ Stefan held out the envelope. ‘I imagine the Keepers of the Flame.’ His companion nodded briefly, as though confirming an evident fact. ‘Follow me,’ he repeated. ‘And your name,’ Stefan said. ‘May I know that?’ The other man paused on the stair. ‘I am known by a num- ber of names,’ he smiled. ‘But you may know me as Nikolas Kranzen, who serves that same order.’ Nikolas walked on, a lantern held aloft above his head. At the head of the stairs he stopped, and waited in front of a set of heavy oak doors. He bowed his head and murmured some- thing, the words inaudible to Stefan. The heavy doors opened inwards in a slow, stately movement. Nikolas beckoned to Stefan, and nodded his head slightly, as if to offer re-assur- ance. ‘Who am I meeting?’ Stefan asked. ‘A man,’ Nikolas replied simply. ‘He has a name, but no rank or title. Or none that matters. He will explain our purpose to you.’ The door led into a corridor that stretched for thirty or forty feet, perhaps the entire length of the building. It was lit by a series of candles that flickered at intervals along the walls. There were no decorations, no features at all save for a line of plain doors that ran along either side. This might once have been a merchant house, where commodities were bought and sold, and deals struck and contracts signed. And now – now it was a place of ghosts, ghosts that passed unnoticed amidst the bustle of Altdorf. Ghosts known to a few as the Keepers of the Flame. Halfway along the length of the corridor Nikolas stopped by a door on his left. He knocked on it twice then, without wait- ing for an answer, pushed the door open and motioned for Stefan to step inside. Beyond the door was a tall room that was empty save for a featureless round wooden table and a row of portraits on the walls. Sitting on one side of the table, facing Stefan and 4 Neil McIntosh Nikolas were not one, but two men. Nikolas’s face registered a momentary flicker of surprise then he bowed and turned back to Stefan. ‘This is it,’ he whispered. ‘Good luck.’ Stefan had a hundred questions spilling into his head but his guide had gone, and the door was closed behind him. Stefan fixed his attention on his new companions. One was a stockily built man with a trimmed mane of silver-steel hair and a distinct, military bearing. The other man was smaller and bookish by comparison, with clear blue eyes that offset his otherwise bland features. Stefan didn’t immediately recog- nise either man, but both seemed to know exactly who he was. ‘Welcome back to Altdorf, Stefan,’ the smaller man began. He indicated the chair. ‘Please sit.’ Stefan took the offered chair, and looked about. The room was featureless and anonymous, empty but for the three of them. Stefan had the distinct impression that the house had been commissioned specifically for their meeting. ‘My name is Marcus Albrecht,’ the man continued. He did not introduce his companion. ‘I serve an order known to you as the Keepers of the Flame.’ Stefan nodded. ‘Then you’ll know I’ve spent much of the last year in their service. But my work is now done.’ Albrecht bowed his head in a gesture of humility. ‘We are heartened to have you safely returned from Erengrad,’ he said. ‘We owe it to you that the dark tide was stemmed in the east. At least for a while.’ Stefan picked up on the words. ‘For a while? We broke the Chaos siege. Erengrad was reclaimed by the people.’ Albrecht glanced at the other man. ‘What I am about to tell you is not widely known,’ he said, gravely. ‘But the conflict around Middenheim is only part of a larger war, a campaign waged by the Dark Armies against all the Old World. Six months ago, while their forces were massing to the west, they fell upon Kislev again, and besieged its cities and ports. ’ ‘What of Erengrad?’ Stefan interjected urgently. ‘Burning,’ the silver-haired man offered, breaking the hover- ing silence with a terse, single word. Keepers of the Flame 5 ‘The city has not fallen.’ Albrecht added hastily. ‘Not totally. The fighting continues. Forces loyal to the Old World contin- ue to fight on.’ Stefan sat in stunned silence. This was news indeed, and unwelcome news at that. For him, Erengrad was far more than a name given to a far-distant place. ‘What of Elena?’ he demanded, abruptly. ‘Elena Yevschenko. What about her?’ ‘Like all the rulers, she is alive,’ Albrecht said firmly. ‘At least when last we heard.’ Stefan expelled a breath, quietly shocked to find the emo- tion was still so raw inside him. ‘Elena Kuryagin is alive,’ Albrecht continued. ‘She and her husband are leading the resistance against the invading forces.’ Stefan felt his face flush. ‘Sigmar be praised for that,’ he said. ‘We endured untold hardships together, so that Elena could return safely to Erengrad. For her to have perished would have been unbearable.’ For a moment he was lost in his own private thoughts. Memories flooded back. Memories of the journey east, and of the young noblewoman who had briefly become his lover. Memories, too, of Kuryagin, the Kislevite lord who waited in Erengrad for the bride he had never met. The marriage had been forged at a terrible cost, but it had re-united a troubled city, and, seemingly, turned the tide against the forces of Chaos. He could not bear to think it had been all for nothing. ‘Is that what you want of me, then?’ Stefan asked. ‘To return to fight for Kislev a second time?’ His heart was heavy at such a prospect, but if that was what it would take, then he knew what his answer must be. But Albrecht shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, quietly. ‘There is nothing more you can do for Kislev, or for the city of Erengrad, Stefan. It is all part of a larg- er war now.’ Stefan was struggling to marshal his thoughts. He was still shocked by the news. ‘What of Gastez Castelguerre?’ he asked. ‘He led the army that broke the assault on Erengrad. Wasn’t he one of your own people? One of the Keepers? What of him?’ 6 Neil McIntosh ‘Castelguerre is alive and well,’ Albrecht confirmed. ‘But he is no longer at Erengrad. He had pulled his troops back to the west, to try and fortify the line holding Middenheim.’ ‘Is it to be the city of the White Wolf, then?’ Stefan asked. ‘You want to send me to Middenheim?’ ‘No,’ Albrecht said again. ‘What we ask of you will not take you to the east, nor to Middenheim in the north. There is a threat much nearer to home. You must help us save Altdorf, Stefan.’ Stefan stood up, impatience mixing with his feelings of con- fusion. He drew out his sword and slammed the flat of the blade hard upon the table, sending shivers through the wood- en frame. ‘I came here in good faith,’ he said. ‘But it seems that faith was misplaced. Murderous war is being raged on two fronts, yet you tell me you would have me stay here, in Altdorf, where there is no war? What kind of sense is that?’ he demanded. ‘Altdorf is in peril, I assure you,’ Albrecht answered. His voice was measured and calm. ‘We will need everything you can offer, and perhaps more.’ ‘If Altdorf falls, then all the Empire will surely fall with it.’ His companion spoke up for the first time. Stefan focused his attention on the second man. ‘We haven’t been introduced.’ The man smiled. ‘You won’t know me,’ he said. ‘My name is Gustav Ehrhart. I am a commander of the Altdorf watch.’ Stefan did recognise the name, vaguely. ‘Then the Keepers of the Flame are already well represented here in Altdorf.’ ‘Gustav is not of our order,’ Albrecht said. ‘But he is a good and trusted friend.’ He paused. ‘He has brought us news which has convinced us that we must act before it is too late.’ Stefan shook his head. The riddle was getting no clearer. ‘This makes no sense,’ he said. ‘If the city is under threat, then the army, or… ’ he glanced at Ehrhart. ‘Or the watch will deal with it. Why come to me?’ ‘Because the threat is intangible, invisible,’ Albrecht told him. ‘By the time it becomes visible, it may be too late.’ Keepers of the Flame 7 Stefan put away his sword. He was of a mind to leave. Once he had set his affairs in order here, he would return to the war. Whether to the east or to the west barely mattered, but he could not sit idle. ‘I see no reason to stay here, and every reason to head to Middenheim,’ he said. ‘Or back to Erengrad. At least I could be of some use there.’ ‘You could indeed,’ Ehrhart agreed. ‘But you would be of more use to us in the service of Altdorf. It’s here that the great- est peril lies.’ Stefan shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t believe that. A few idiots and madmen spreading woe and damnation round the streets doesn’t add up to danger.’ He looked to Ehrhart. ‘Your men are quite capable of mopping up that sort of threat. You don’t need me.’ ‘That isn’t the threat we had in mind,’ Albrecht replied, stonily. ‘Then what?’ Stefan demanded. ‘Tell me.’ Ehrhart nodded. ‘Tell him.’ Albrecht sighed, resigned to giving up his secrets one by one. ‘We’ve recently gained information of a Chaos plot against Altdorf. I’m not talking about a few cultists to be flushed out. I’m talking about a plan that would threaten the very existence of the city. If we don’t move against them soon, it may well be too late.’ Stefan looked at Albrecht. The other man’s face was steeped a fiery red, and his eyes burned with a passion that Stefan sensed was sincere. But he still didn’t think this was any busi- ness of his. ‘I’m a swordsman,’ he said. ‘Not a strategist, or a breaker of secret codes.’ He started to get up, but Ehrhart bid him stay seated. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘If we could prove the gravity of the danger, would it change your mind?’ ‘It might,’ Stefan conceded. ‘How do you propose to do that?’ Ehrhart exchanged glances with Albrecht. Albrecht shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he muttered. ‘If we must.’ 8 Neil McIntosh ‘We’ll show you the city,’ Albrecht said. ‘I’ve seen enough of the city already,’ Stefan said. ‘Seen enough of the scaremongers who are beating up a frenzy of fear amongst good, level-headed people.’ ‘I wasn’t proposing to show you the city as it is now,’ Albrecht murmured. ‘But as it will be if we do not act.’ The door behind Stefan opened. Nikolas re-entered the room. There was something unsettling about having the man present behind him, something that sent the faintest of shiv- ers down the length of Stefan’s spine. ‘Nikolas will lead you on a journey,’ Albrecht continued. ‘A journey to an Altdorf which, great Sigmar willing, will never come to be.’ Stefan stared at the other man, blankly. ‘Where would this place be precisely?’ ‘This is an inner journey, Stefan,’ Ehrhart told him. ‘A jour- ney of the soul.’ ‘A journey into time,’ Albrecht added. ‘You can show me the future?’ Stefan was both alarmed and awe-struck by such a prospect. ‘I can show you one possible future,’ Nikolas replied. ‘We can touch those other worlds that have not yet come to pass. There are infinite futures, Stefan, untold possibilities. The choices we make today will shape the world that dawns tomorrow.’ ‘You answered our call,’ Albrecht reminded him. ‘You must at least be curious. Will you allow Nikolas to show you a glimpse of that future, before you make any decision?’ ‘And if that decision is still “no”?’ Ehrhart bowed his head, then looked up to meet Stefan’s eye. ‘Then our business is ended. This meeting will never have taken place.’ ‘You won’t say no,’ Albrecht said, firmly. ‘Not if you are half the man we know you to be.’ Stefan pondered for a moment. This could surely do no harm. There was nothing to be lost. He looked around at the three men, and nodded his head. ‘Good,’ Ehrhart said. ‘You have made the right choice.’ Keepers of the Flame 9 ‘We shall leave you with Nikolas,’ Albrecht said. ‘But be warned. Whatever happens, whatever you see, you must stay with your guide. Do not lose contact with Nikolas, whatever you do.’ ‘Whatever you say,’ Stefan agreed. At that moment, any risk seemed largely imaginary. Ehrhart smiled. ‘Good luck, Stefan. We shall return to speak again shortly.’

Nikolas reached for one of the empty chairs and sat down. He beckoned Stefan to draw closer. ‘What happens now?’ Stefan asked. At heart he was deeply sceptical, but his curiosity had led him this far, and would not let him go now. ‘All you need do is let me guide you,’ Nikolas said. ‘Empty your mind of all feeling and thought.’ That was impossible. Stefan’s mind was racing, filled with all the tangled clutter of the day, from his conversation in the tavern with Mikhal, to the events that had led him to this strange encounter. But he let Nikolas place his hands on either side of his face. He held them there whilst he sat in silence, head inclined. Stefan felt nothing beyond a slight weariness. Just for a moment, he may have allowed his eyes to fall closed. When he snapped to again, nothing had changed. Nikolas was still sitting as before, with his eyes firmly shut, and his hands held gently against Stefan’s face. Stefan could see little sense in prolonging the charade. He waited a few moments – more out of politeness than anything else – then gently broke contact with the other man. Nikolas looked up at Stefan. His eyes were bright and ques- tioning. ‘I think we should go,’ Stefan suggested. Somewhat unex- pectedly, Nikolas agreed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let us go, now.’ Stefan stood up quickly, too quickly, because a wave of gid- diness rushed over him. Instinctively, he reached out a hand for Nikolas to steady him. ‘Over here,’ Nikolas said. ‘Only a short way.’ 10 Neil McIntosh Nikolas held open the door, and stood back to allow Stefan to pass. ‘Careful,’ he urged. ‘Whatever should come to pass and whatever you may think you have seen, stay close to me at all times.’ Stefan stepped out to where the candle-lit corridor had been, only to find he had somehow emerged onto the street outside. He looked around in confusion. He could make out no door, only the grey, featureless exterior of the building. The rain had stopped. There was no trace of the endless del- uge now. Even the ground beneath his feet felt dry, almost parched. Even less explicable was the light, or lack of it. When he had arrived at the house it had been early afternoon, and broad daylight. Now the sky above his head was pitch black. Only the faint sickly glimmer from the moon, Morrslieb, cast light upon the streets. He had no memory of any journey. No recollection of any vision of Altdorf, past or future. All sense of time had gone. His headed pounded with a vague, insistent ache. ‘It is so dark,’ he muttered. ‘Here it is always dark,’ Nikolas told him. ‘Stay close by me, Stefan.’ Stefan fell in step behind the man who had now taken on the role of guide. Somewhere inside his mind, a voice nagged at him. This was a dream; he could wake from it whenever he want- ed. But it felt so real. He could touch the rough cast of the wall at his side. He could feel the cobblestones, dry and flint-strewn beneath his feet. No dream could take on such solid form. Nikolas beckoned and Stefan followed. At first the only sound was their feet upon the road. Everything else was silent, thick and heavy as the dark curtain of night that had fallen so suddenly across the city. Then Stefan heard them. The voices. Only one or two at first, but others gradually added to their number. They were the voices of men, women and children. All different, yet all united by a single theme. It was the sound of a people, of a city in unend- ing, unutterable pain. The sound of the cries and screams grew in intensity until Stefan had to clamp his hands over his ears to shut them out. Keepers of the Flame 11 ‘Merciful Sigmar,’ he exclaimed to Nikolas. ‘What monstros- ity is this?’ Nikolas turned to him and said, ‘It’s the sound of dead souls, Stefan.’ At the top of the street the road opened out onto a broad thoroughfare. Now the sounds of human suffering were joined by a distant thunder, the thunder of marching men. Hundreds, or even thousands of soldiers on the move, and coming their way. Seconds passed. The thunder grew louder. Then, in an instant, the enveloping darkness was trans- formed, set alight by the glare of a thousand torches held aloft against the tar-black sky. Nikolas seized hold of Stefan, and pulled him back towards the shadows. They took shelter in the recess of a doorway. Before their eyes, the armies of the night advanced, unchal- lenged, along the broad avenue, towards the heart of Altdorf. Stefan looked on in stunned silence as the monstrous army poured into the city. First came the footmen, a hideous infantry clad in blackened steel, row upon row of hulking fig- ures, metal-shod feet grinding down upon the cobblestones. Then came the knights astride their monstrous steeds: cruel champions bearing shields anointed with the stain of inno- cent blood. As they rode, the horned-helmed riders lashed the crowds with their swords, cutting down anyone who fell with- in their path. Finally, in their wake, came legions of mutants, creatures so far deformed by their malignant masters as to be all but unrecognisable from the mortal men they had once been. The light of a thousand torches shone down on their skeletal bloodless faces, on flesh that glittered like reptile scales. The creatures lifted their faces to the skies and wailed a guttural, cacophonous tribute to the Dark Gods. Stefan was transfixed by the scene. His instincts had already guided his hand to his sword, but common sense told him that this was no battle he could ever hope to win. There were too many, far, far too many. If he were to cut one monster down, a dozen would rise up to take its place. This was not some bloody tableau of war, hundreds of miles removed. This was Altdorf, the very heart of the old city. 12 Neil McIntosh Evil had conquered the Empire, his beloved homeland. How long had he been standing there watching them march past? Five minutes? Ten? Yet still they came, these cadaver-sol- diers in a sea of skull-faces and mutant bodies. They marched to the unending beat of drums, their foul breath frosting the chill air with sulphurous clouds. Stefan tore his gaze from the black tide to the streets beyond, then realised the horror was only just beginning. At that moment he saw the bodies. Bloodied, blackened and broken; the remains of ordinary people who had been slaugh- tered or maimed then hung like bunting from windows and doors, and left to rot. It was a savage, chilling warning to any who dared oppose the new masters of Altdorf. Stefan retched. Thin bile spilled into his throat. ‘By all that’s holy,’ he swore, ‘they’ll pay a fearful price for this.’ ‘How will that help these people?’ Nikolas asked. ‘It’s already too late for them.’ He took Stefan’s arm. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s more.’ The main body of the army had passed. In their wake came the prisoners. Stefan saw soldiers of the Empire, officers and men of the watch, and swordsmen, young and old, who had given their all in a vain attempt to stem the flood. Now they were paying the price for their bravery. There were hundreds of them, line upon endless line of men, tethered by tightly fas- tened ropes around their wrists, or their ankles. They were being drawn face down through the filthy streets. Their bod- ies, already bruised and beaten, were chafed by the raw, freez- ing stones. Those who still had strength screamed out in agony. But scream or stay silent, it made no difference to the monsters that dragged them, like dead meat, towards their fate. The men stared out blindly, all hope abandoned. Stefan looked on in horror at their bloodied faces and mutilated bodies. Then, by the orange torchlight, came a sight that chilled him to the very bone. ‘Bruno!’ The cry was out before Nikolas could stop him. Stefan looked again. The once stocky frame had grown piti- fully thin, but there was no mistake. His comrade stared back Keepers of the Flame 13 without recognition, as his broken body was hauled through the streets. Nikolas shouted a warning, and tried to hold Stefan back, but he was gone, driven on by an instinct of loyalty that no amount of warnings could subdue. Sword in hand, Stefan was already in the thick of the crowd, desperately trying to beat a path to his friend. A slender figure with its back towards Stefan turned to face him as he approached. Stefan stared at the woman. They had never met, he was certain of that, yet some- thing about her was hauntingly familiar. The expression on the young woman’s face was beaten and cowed, but her eyes struck an eerily familiar chord with Stefan. They were the colour of deep, icy seas, the colour of winter storms. The look in those eyes was of reproach, a long, unforgiving stare of undiluted hatred. Stefan reached out to her, but as quickly as she had appeared the young woman was gone, swallowed up in the mass. The faces milling around him were changing. They were no longer men, they were monsters, the spawn of Chaos. Stefan tried to force a way through their ranks. When the weight of his body yielded him nothing, he used his sword to hack a path of blood through the mutant horde. Silver- skinned mutants, men with misshapen heads and the horns of beasts, turned to block his path. Razor-edged talons clawed his face, and tore at his flesh. Stefan tasted the salty tang of blood flowing into his mouth. This was no dream. His sword reaped a harvest of death, but still they came, swarming towards him, roused to a frenzy by the scent of blood. Stefan redoubled his efforts. He was fighting now for his very life, but it was hopeless. He could never kill enough of them. The mutants fell upon him in a poisonous swarm. Stefan looked around, seeking any ally amongst the crowd, but Bruno and the rest of the prisoners had gone. There was nothing left for him, but to fight and kill until he himself was killed. He raised his sword high, and was preparing to strike, when he felt a hand settle upon his shoulder. He spun round, expecting to see Nikolas. Instead there was a line of figures, dressed in priest’s robes, heavy and all 14 Neil McIntosh enveloping. The men – or creatures – stank with the ripe, sick- ly sweet odour of death. If they were priests, they worshipped no god that Stefan could recognise as his own. Stefan shook himself free and swung his sword. Before it reached its target, the first of the figures tilted back the heavy black cowl covering its head. Stefan’s blade hung, frozen, in mid-air. His brother was recognisable, just about. The skin on Mikhal’s face had turned waxy and translucent, like a parchment steeped in oil. In places, where the paper-thin flesh had ruptured, gangrenous pus leaked out from the wounds to run, like acid tears, down his cheeks. Only his eyes, pure, uncorrupted cornflower blue, reminded Stefan of the brother he had known. Stefan’s mouth opened in an involuntary scream. He was only dimly aware of the scrab- bling, claw-like hands that fastened onto him, to hold him captive. He barely heard the voice, or voices, distantly call- ing his name. All he was aware of was Mikhal’s cold, unsee- ing stare, and the blade of the dagger moving towards his heart. Stefan closed his eyes, and uttered a last desperate prayer. Somewhere in the distance he heard a voice that he dimly recognised as Nikolas’s. From the corner of his eye he saw a blur of green, moving through the crowds. But it would be too late; it was all too late. He looked up one final time into the face of the creature he had once known as his brother, and bid a silent farewell.

He felt a jolt, a small death deep inside of him. Stefan opened his eyes. The street, and all its scenes of death and devastation, had gone. The solid walls of the chamber took shape once again around him. Stefan looked up to find Marcus Albrecht and his companion Ehrhart staring down at him. Stefan examined his hands. For a moment, he swore, he could see the scarlet wounds where the mutant claws had torn at his flesh. The image faded, like the vision that had gone before it. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue had been stilled by what he had seen. His body was shaking; it was Keepers of the Flame 15 soaked with sweat, and there was a sickness buried deep in the pit of his stomach. ‘Don’t try to speak,’ Albrecht advised. ‘Here.’ He handed Stefan a beaker of cool water. ‘Drink this first.’ Stefan drank. Gradually, his shivering subsided. ‘Whatever you did to fill my being with such imaginings,’ he whispered. ‘I beg you, never do it again.’ ‘That was no mere imagining,’ Albrecht replied. ‘Your soul was in real, mortal peril. You may thank Nikolas for your safe return.’ ‘That future can still be prevented.’ Ehrhart told him. ‘There is still time.’ ‘But we must act,’ Albrecht interjected. ‘We must act now.’ ‘What must be done?’ Stefan asked. ‘I swear, I’d move the very heavens to make sure the things saw never come to pass.’ The two men exchanged glances then Ehrhart went on, ‘Just over two weeks ago, a man was murdered here in Altdorf.’ ‘His name,’ Albrecht added, ‘was Peter Selendorf. He was a member of our order.’ ‘And a friend of mine,’ Ehrhart said. ‘He was returning home from my house when his carriage was attacked, and he was killed.’ ‘We believe he was killed not only for who he was, but also for what he knew.’ Albrecht added. ‘Peter Selendorf knew of the peril facing Altdorf,’ Ehrhart said. ‘The night of his death he shared important news with me. The same news that brings us together now.’ Albrecht opened a drawer in front of him and removed a scroll of parchment, which he opened out onto the flat surface of the desk. Stefan looked down at a likeness of a man, drawn in charcoal upon fine white parchment. The face was lean, with a close-cropped beard and eyes that stared out from the picture with an uncanny intensity. Something about the face was both familiar, and unsettling. ‘His name,’ Albrecht told Stefan, ‘is Heinrich von Diehl.’ ‘His family have a reputation for evil that stretches back for generations,’ Ehrhart added. ‘Now, Sigmar be thanked, he is the last of an infamous line.’ 16 Neil McIntosh Stefan nodded. He knew the name well enough to know that it represented everything he opposed. ‘You want me to find this von Diehl? And kill him?’ ‘Find him, yes, although that won’t be difficult,’ Ehrhart replied. ‘Kill him, no. Heinrich von Diehl is securely under lock and key, in an Imperial prison.’ ‘Well, that at least is good news,’ Stefan ventured, puzzled. ‘On the contrary,’ Albrecht said. ‘It is not good news. As far as his gaolers are concerned, von Diehl is a just another cultist. Evil undoubtedly, but of no particular consequence. They consider him to be little different to hundreds of his kind, who plot and scheme against mankind in the service of their Dark Masters.’ ‘Von Diehl is a servant of Tzeentch,’ Ehrhart explained. ‘But an exceptional one.’ He put a finger to his forehead. ‘The knowledge he holds up here sets him apart.’ ‘Von Diehl has knowledge of every Chaos cult in Altdorf seeded somewhere in his mind,’ Albrecht said. ‘He knows the name of every acolyte, every human soul that has been turned from the path of righteousness. And there’s more. Inside his head is the whole plan, every detail of the devas- tation that Chaos will unleash within the walls of this city. From start, Sigmar forbid, to finish.’ ‘But if he’s in prison, it’s only a matter of time before that information is prised out of him,’ Stefan observed. Ehrhart laughed, dismissively. ‘The Imperial gaolers are men of limited imagination, and crude but limited means,’ he said. ‘They have tortured our friend, and learned nothing. Maybe,’ he added, ‘they even believe there is nothing to be learned.’ ‘Our best information is that Heinrich von Diehl will be executed in a matter of weeks,’ Albrecht said. ‘And if he dies, then what he knows dies with him. We need von Diehl alive.’ He paused, holding Stefan’s gaze. ‘And we need him here.’ ‘Selendorf discovered the value that von Diehl could be to us,’ Ehrhart said. ‘No doubt that knowledge cost him his life.’ Stefan sat, gradually absorbing the significance of what was about to be asked of him. There was, he imagined, still the option to turn his back on Albrecht and his co-conspirator once and for all. Or perhaps he was already in too deep for that. Keepers of the Flame 17 ‘Let’s be clear about this,’ he began. ‘You are asking me to risk my life by breaking into an Imperial prison, and helping an known creature of Chaos escape?’ ‘Hardly break in,’ Ehrhart replied, almost nonchalantly. ‘We will have prepared a route into the prison. We hope that force will not be necessary.’ ‘And hardly “escape” either,’ Albrecht added, his tone con- trastingly harsh. ‘Once with the Keepers, von Diehl will face an ordeal far harsher than anything he has faced in prison.’ ‘What makes you think you’ll fare any better than his gaol- ers?’ ‘I shall summon a gathering of the Keepers of the Flame,’ Albrecht replied. ‘I will gather together our brothers from across the Empire. Together we have access to powers – powers of persuasion greater than anything the Imperial gaolers can muster. Whatever von Diehl knows, the Keepers shall know.’ ‘Nonetheless,’ Stefan insisted. ‘What you are asking breaks every natural law of man or gods.’ ‘Of course,’ Albrecht concurred. ‘That is why we’re asking you, Stefan. Few men would be capable of leading a mission such as this. Even fewer would understand why it must be done. But you truly understand the forces of Chaos, and the sacrifices that must be made if we are to prevail. ‘But can von Diehl truly hold the key to…’ Stefan forced himself to recall the images. ‘To the future that I witnessed?’ ‘With the knowledge that he holds, we could make sure that future never happens,’ Ehrhart assured him, gravely. ‘You wouldn’t be working alone,’ Albrecht went on. ‘You’ll lead of group of men, loyal to our aims. Men you can trust with your life. All we need is your assent. We’ll arrange the rest.’ ‘You understand,’ Ehrhart said. ‘There are details which we cannot divulge to anyone, until the eve of the mission itself. Take all the time you need to come to your decision. But once you have decided, then, my friend, you are commit- ted.’ ‘We will pay you well for your work,’ Albrecht added for good measure. ‘But you must be ready to leave Altdorf at a few hours’ notice.’ 18 Neil McIntosh For a moment Stefan thought he had misheard. ‘Leave Altdorf?’ he said. ‘But I thought you said…’ ‘Von Diehl isn’t in Altdorf,’ Ehrhart explained. ‘He’s being held somewhere far away from here. A place you may never have heard of. A place most men would hope never to know.’ Stefan sat silently contemplating his options. The proposal that was being put to him was insane. But he couldn’t shake the image of the two men. Bruno, his all but lifeless body being hauled through the streets of Altdorf like the carcass of an animal and Mikhal, his own brother, his flesh and soul corrupted beyond all redemption. Surely he would never know evil greater than that. He remembered the accusation written on the face of the anonymous woman; her face tugged at some distant memory. He shuddered at each recol- lection. Then he looked up at Albrecht and his companion. ‘Make the arrangements,’ he said. ‘If von Diehl can be taken alive, I will deliver him to you.’ Albrecht clasped Stefan by the hand, clearly relieved. Ehrhart merely nodded. ‘Nikolas will find you when we are ready,’ Albrecht said. ‘Enough explanations,’ Ehrhart declared. ‘We have told you all we can for now. You are with us, Stefan Kumansky?’ Stefan nodded his head once, a simple motion, which sig- nalled an irrevocable choice. ‘Then our business here is done,’ Ehrhart concluded. ‘You will hear from us again soon.’ Stefan forced a smile, even though at that moment he felt anything but encouraged. ‘I thought perhaps you were going to tell me I wouldn’t regret my decision.’ Albrecht inclined his head slightly. A shadow of sadness passed across his features. ‘Alas, nothing in this life is ever so certain, Stefan.’

What foul plot are the forces of Chaos brewing against Altdorf, and can Stefan and his companions prevent it? Find out in: KEEPERS OF THE FLAME More Neil McIntosh from the Black Library

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